


Breaking Point

by frilencer



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:34:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frilencer/pseuds/frilencer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sometimes she looks almost fine: she laughs at his jokes, plays along when he teases her, lets him drag her into a tickling game that leaves her breathless but cheerful. Sometimes, though, she shuts herself away and his attempts at bringing her walls down are ineffective, and all he can do is hold her closer and tighter." Set after Damned If You Do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point

Silence is the key word that night, but it’s a different and rare kind of silence, the kind that discloses the paradox of loss and leaves you unloaded and burdened at the same time, with a heavy void weighing on your flimsy soul. It is a silence that is only broken by the muffled, nearly imperceptible sounds of nature and soulless things – the pattering of the rain, the ticking of the clock -, a silence that is as still and dense as a trapped fluid, a silence that is made for words to remain unspoken and thoughts unrevealed.   
Plunged in this motionless air, Tony runs his fingertip along the rim of the glass and listens to the quietness of the room, a quietness that suits so well to his lonely nights but feels out of place when he is not the only one around; quite surprisingly – but not quite so, considering the situation – the part of him that’s best known as a silence-breaker and joke-teller tonight hushes and mourns its burnt down circus, and he has no interest in bothering the bereaved and relieving the atmosphere. Furthermore, there’s no point in talking if he doesn’t know how he could make it any easier for the three of them. It’s only been a few hours since they left Vance’s office, but he can tell they already all feel like a part of them is missing: the lack of a badge hanging from their belts is barely the exterior shadow of their inner emptiness, and he can hardly accept this new reality where he is not an agent anymore and he’s only left to be Tony, with all his solid certainties brought down to unveil the doubtful and unsure man.   
He can only guess what kinds of thoughts cross his friends’ minds, but he doesn’t need a confirmation to know that they all share this sense of uncertainty and disbelief: uncertainty because their already barely steady lives have been once again subverted from the foundations, disbelief because they all still struggle to understand how all of this could happen and why everything fell apart so fast. And this already tangled bundle of feelings is mingled with some sort of determination – stronger in some, more hesitant in others –, the determination they needed to step up and give up a part of their lives in the name of family. He still sees that determination on Tim’s face, and he sees it in Ziva’s expression, but he also detects how resolution is slowly clearing some place for the awareness that is soon to come, the awareness that from now on nothing will be as it always has been.   
He observes Ziva more than anything else in the room, Ziva, the woman he has already seen losing so much in her life; he can only imagine how she’s feeling right now, after having said goodbye to the one thing she had clung on for the past eight years, and he can only wish he could relieve her of the weight she’s carrying – and now and forever he will wonder how a human soul can bear that much loss without crumbling. If only he had the chance, he would haul her burden with his own, he would make himself crawl under the load of so much pain: anything for her, anything for the woman whose mere smile could lighten the weights bearing upon his heart.  
It is after over two hours of almost complete silence that Tim stands up and murmurs something about leaving. Tony’s only response is a nod, and it takes him a lot of strength to walk his friend to the door and say goodbye. He watches him walk down the hallway until he disappears beyond the corner, then he goes back to the couch, where he finds a different Ziva than the one he left behind only a few seconds ago: she is not lost in her thoughts anymore, but seems more aware of the surrounding world. Her eyes are fixated on him and she looks sure and doubtful, strong and vulnerable at the same time - and how that could be is part of the mystery of her he’s trying to solve.   
He smiles faintly at her and sits beside her on the couch, never letting go of her gaze. He can hardly be sure that she’s smiling back at him because her lips only curve so slightly, but he trusts his understanding of her subtleness well enough to interpret it as her way of telling him he can break that silence they’ve been buried in for so long.  
“So…” he starts saying, but pauses to follow the movement of her head with his gaze: she lays it on back of the couch and closes her eyes for a moment, and only opens them again after taking a deep breath in; for the first time that night she looks at least a little relaxed, and he feels blessed to be the one around whom she can comfortably sink into a state of tranquility. It’s with a bit more of courage that he asks, “Any plans for tomorrow?”  
She keeps silent for a while before speaking. “I don’t know. Clean the house, finish the book I’ve started reading so long ago.” She sighs and looks away, moves her gaze around and stares at nothing, as though she was trying to see beyond the present reality and unveil the mysteries of future. “It’s not tomorrow that worries me, but all the days after that.”  
He ponders what she said for a while and can’t help but feel her same sense of uncertainty, her same fear of the unknown. All he can do is trying to reassure her and himself, and he does so with words he struggles to believe in, but that represent the only hope they can both cling to. “This is not going to last forever, Ziva. Gibbs is going to come back. We will find a way to fix things. To fix everything.” He tries to keep his voice as firm as he can, tries to never let the determination slip away from his gaze. “We’ll do everything we can to make things go back to how they were.”  
It’s a sad smile the one that appears on her face at his words, a discouraged smile that makes his heart ache. “And until then?”  
He takes her hands in his and brings them toward his chest, close to his heart; he strokes her skin with his thumb while an expression of surprise shows up on her face.  
“Until then we have each other.”  
This time, it’s a smile of hope and gratitude that rises on her lips.  
***  
The following morning, he fears she won’t come and checks the clock repeatedly as he wanders around the apartment trying to find something to keep his mind occupied. He never invited her over, not explicitly at least, but he had hoped he had made her understand that he wants them to go through this together: what he feels is both the desire to be there for her and the need of having her with him, because he knows neither of them can stand such solitude and dullness for long, and he knows he wants to be the one that fills her empty days with words of comfort and care.   
It’s with great relief that he heads toward the door as soon as he hears the bell ring; he finds her standing in the hallway, wearing casual clothes, and welcomes her with a smile that – he’s sure – hardly conceals how happy he is to see her there. For a moment, he forgets that there’s a reason why they’re here and not at work, and he’s just grateful that she has come.   
He barely pays attention to the excuse she’s making up as an explanation of her being there and he lets her in with a smile. As he watches her stand in the middle of the living room looking around, he wonders when it became such a natural thing to see her in his apartment, between those walls which for years had been his secret nest.  
He takes few steps toward her to get closer, while mulling over what he could say to ease the tension and dissolve her stiffening. What comes to his mind is a simple idea, but it’s the kind of idea he knows that can help them slide into a more comfortable state without needing too many words and explanations. “Movie morning?”  
Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t miss that look of wonder that shows on her face, and he smiles reassuringly at her, taking her silence as a sign of agreement. And just as silent is the agreement they make of seeing each other every day, and from that moment on he can only be sure that she’ll show up some time between sunrise and sundown – and he craves that time with her, he longs for her to come knocking at his door to swipe away the fog from his static life.   
At first she stays just for a movie and goes away before the credits finish to roll, leaving behind a void next to him on the couch and in his heart. When he’s not with her, he’s left to think over his loss, the loss of the one thing that had helped him feel better about his life: the looks of gratitude in the eyes of the people he had saved had slightly made up for the loneliness he felt when he was alone, and now that he can’t find some self-acceptance in holding a badge, he only feels empty and hopeless. All he can do is to wait for her to come back the next day, like the fox that waits for the Little Prince – but since he doesn’t know what time she will come, he’s restlessly agitated and pricks up his hears to be sure he won’t miss the ring of the bell.  
They barely touch the first time they watch a movie together that summer, but a week later she’s resting her head on his shoulder and he’s wrapping his arm around her waist, stroking her skin with his thumb and paying more attention to the sound of her breath than to the voices that come from the television. Sometimes he feels brave enough to tickle her a little, and the laughter that she can barely stifles lights up his heart - and he flatters himself he can cure that deep sadness of hers, a sadness that is so rooted inside of her that he would need to tickle her soul with something greater that words and fingers to dissolve it.  
As time passes, movies turn into dinners that turn into hours and hours spent together doing not much more than softly talking and touching, and he feels grateful that he can call her a friend without hesitation because now that she is not his partner anymore, he would struggle to find a definition for what she is in his life – and even the word “friend” barely covers what she is to him.   
Sometimes she looks almost fine: she laughs at his jokes, plays along when he teases her, lets him drag her into a tickling game that leaves her breathless but cheerful. He lives for those moments when she’s smiling, and it becomes his mission to tear a grin out of her every day. Sometimes, though, she shuts herself away and his attempts at bringing her walls down are ineffective, and all he can do is hold her closer and tighter, press his lips on her forehead to let her know he is there with her. One evening, she falls asleep in his arms and he doesn’t dare waking her up, but lulls her for the rest of the night, barely getting some sleep for himself. Other times, he feels her stiffen at his touch and strokes her arms to ease her tension – but how hard it is to open a breach in that deep skin of hers.   
There are nights when he tries to get her to talk, when he urges her to free the thoughts she has imprisoned in her crowded mind; but those are the nights when she withdraws into herself and shuts the door that he’s so tenderly trying to open, those are the nights when silence falls between them and creates a wall he cannot simply bring down with his bare hands. He tries not to think too much about how it hurts him to know he’s still not enough for her, how it burns to realize that she’s still the kind of obstinate warrior that fights her battles on her own. And if he can’t be her sword and armor, he wishes he could at least be the doctor that cures her wounds after the war, but she just won’t let him in; after all this time, after all his efforts, she’s still erecting a barricade made of silence and reluctance between them, and he wonders if this will ever change. However, he doesn’t feel any bit of anger toward her, because he knows how hard it’s already been for her to open up with him the times she did; he just wishes she realized that she doesn’t need to fear intimacy of any kind, not with him; he just wishes she could see that he’s willing to love even the darker and most hidden parts of her.  
This routine of theirs goes on for a couple of weeks, and they barely discuss the state of their relationship at this point, they barely discuss anything, actually. Silence keeps being the key word as days go by without hearing any news from Gibbs, without getting a single glimmer of hope of returning to their old lives, back to when they were a team and a family at the same time. There are nights when they just stare at nothing for hours, both lost in their thoughts, unwilling even to do the simplest of things. As time passes, they both begin to fear this is going to last forever and the reason why they don’t look for another job is because they would feel like they are giving up on that grain of hope that remains.   
It’s been over a month and a half from the day they resigned and they’re still on his couch, watching a movie– and it actually feels as though they haven’t moved in the past few weeks, it feels as though they have been sitting there, motionless, for forty-seven days. He absent-mindedly reaches out his arm to pick some popcorns from the bowl and on his way back he takes some time to brush his pinkie against her hand. He feels her shiver at his touch and he turns his head toward her with a playful grin on his face, but his smile is doomed to fade because what he sees is something that kills every bit of cheerfulness in him: there’s a single tear running down her cheek, a single tear that holds so much sadness and desperation.  
Out of instinct, he brings his hand to her face and strokes her skin with his thumb to wipe a tear that burns like hell when he touches it with his finger. She lowers her head, but he doesn’t move his hand from her; quite the contrary, he lets it slide down her face until it’s cupping her cheek.   
“Ziva,” he whispers to her, then he wraps his arms around her body and brings her to his chest, where he holds her tight and close. “Talk to me,” he begs her, and he presses his lips on her temple for a little while before bending his head so he can stare right into her eyes. “Talk to me,” he tells her again, this time supporting his words with his gaze.  
He sees her eyes shine with tears, and he senses that she’s holding back more than her body can contain – and it’s not just tears that she’s keeping inside. He detects that she’s thinking fast, hesitating, and for a moment he believes that she will actually open up, that she will actually let him in once for all, let him stroke with his fingers that broken soul of hers. But it’s the other part of her that wins, the part of her that wants to keep everything bottled up inside, and she slides away from his hold like a leaf that falls from its branch.   
And she’s gone before he can pick her up from the ground.   
***  
It is way past midnight and she’s still turning over in her bed, unable to sleep. Her mind wanders and brings back memories she wishes she could bury – the sight of his father’s body in Vance’s house, the echoes of the screams that followed the bombings the day Tali died, the last glimpse she caught of the bullpen before the elevators doors shut. What she feels inside is a void that is like a stone, like a boulder that swells as years pass and losses add to losses, and she can barely drag it along the path of her life. She feels empty, squashed, and exhausted.  
But tonight, above all, she is angry at herself for having let that tear go, revealing how shattered she feels on the inside. She never wanted Tony to see her break, she never wanted him to see the pain she felt: she has noticed him in these weeks – how hopeless he feels, how wrecked his soul is – and she never wanted him to have to worry about her too. Yet, it feels like that’s what he wants, to carry her burden, to hold the pieces of her broken heart in his hands, and she hates herself when she realizes that, deep inside, she needs that from him too.   
She still feels his lips on her temple, his hand on her cheek: she still senses the warmth and comfort that his touch gave her in those few seconds when he was holding her with all his strength. She still feels all of it, and craves for it, longs to have him by her side, to be wrapped in his firm arms and lulled on his chest by his breath. Maybe it’s a bit selfish, but she desperately needs to share with him the weight of her pain, to have him hold her as she drags the boulder up the hill.   
She’s been fighting this need for so long and it has become harder and harder for her to resist the urge to just lose herself in his hold. Every time he touches her, she forces herself to think that she needs to protect him from herself, from all this sorrow and desperation she keeps inside, and it’s a bugging but siren-like voice the one that reminds her that he has so often let her know that there’s nothing he wants more than be there for her. And it’s always so hard for her to endure.  
Tonight, however, she’s too tired to keep fighting. She doesn’t fight the tears that begin to stream down her face, and she doesn’t fight the desire of having him by her side. She just wants him and needs him, because she doesn’t think she keep the pieces together all by herself. She needs a hand – his warm, firm hand – to gather the scattered fragments of his shattered heart.   
She’s upright in a heartbeat, and groping for something to wear – but it’s so hard to see anything beyond the film of tears in her eyes. She changes fast, grabs the keys from her bedside table, and a minute later she’s out in the darkness of the night, wiping her tears from her eyes before opening the door of her car.  
It’s not a long drive to his place, but it feels like an eternity for her, and she gets all the time she needs to become completely aware of the choice she has made; by the time she has parked her car, she is not moving out of instinct anymore, but she is driven by consciousness and resolution. As she goes up the stairs, she lets the tears run down her cheek and makes no attempts to stop them, and when she finds himself in front of Tony’s door, she can barely see anything.  
Forever seems to pass between the moment she rings the bell and the moment he opens the door, his eyes widened and his mouth only half shut. He is too stunned to talk and she knows she has to say something to explain it all – her presence, her tears – and when she speaks, she is aware she is revealing the most painful but also most honest truth of all.  
“I am not fine.”  
***  
He thought he was ready to hear those words from her because he has always known them to be true, but when she actually says them, and in such a open and frank way even, he starts bleeding on the inside, stabbed by a truth he can hardly live with.   
It takes him a few moments to pull himself together, but as soon as he does, he reaches out to pull her in, and wraps her body in his arms, tighter than he ever has. She rests her chin on his shoulder, still crying, and he lulls her on his chest and strokes her back with his right hand, while his left arm is wound round her waist. He doesn’t stop holding her until he hears her sobs grow weaker, but this only happens after several minutes, minutes they spend standing on the doorstep, without moving a single inch from there. When she stops crying, he pulls away and places his hands on her cheeks while his eyes plunge into her deep gaze. He strokes her skin with his thumb and smiles faintly at her – to reassure her, to comfort her, to let her know it’s okay –; the timid, unsure smile he gets from her is the biggest gift he could ask for. He bends over to press his lips on her forehead and lingers there for a while, inhaling her scent, savoring the sound of her breath rhythm becoming more regular. His hand looks for hers and, when it finds it, he intertwines their fingers and he leads her to the couch, without ever ceasing to stare her. They sit next to each other, with their looks still grazing and their fingertips exploring the other’s skin; the silence between them is neither awkward nor oppressive, it’s just a silence of peace and comfort. It’s the kind of silence that lets you breathe.   
She breaks this silence after a couple of seconds, but only with a whisper. “Tony, I…” She hesitates, bites her lips, gathers the courage she needs to keep talking. “I am sorry.”  
Her words come unforeseen and he shakes his head confused. “Ziva, what…?” he begins, but she hushes him by placing the tip of her index on his lips.  
“I am sorry,” she says again. “I am sorry I did not come to you when I needed it, I am sorry I held back the things I wanted to tell you – the things I should have told you. I am sorry I sometimes forgot to which extent I could count on you.” She takes a deep breath and brings her finger to his cheek to stroke it, “I am sorry I pulled back and hurt you when you tried to help me. ”  
Tony knows she is not only thinking of today; he knows she is also thinking of all the times he has tried to open a breach in her walls but was only pushed back; he knows she is speaking of all the times she forgot she could turn to him for help. Her words heal whatever wound her previous rejections might have left in him, and he suddenly feels relieved, and much lighter.   
He smiles at her and she smiles back at him, and for a minute they don’t say anything and only focus on the movement of her finger on his cheek. It’s Tony’s turn to break the silence this time.   
“Believe me, the biggest hurt always comes with knowing you are in pain. But if you let me, I can be the one who stays by your side while you face it.”  
It only takes her a moment to reply, “I will.”  
He can’t resist the urge of hugging her once again, and while he’s holding her, he brings his lips to her ear and whispers, “You can stay tonight.” He hears her laugh faintly and she pulls back almost immediately to look at him.   
“Thank you,” she says, then she leans forward and kisses him at the corner of his lips.   
***  
As he watches her lying in his bed, his mind runs back to that night of six months ago, when he woke her from the nightmares she was having and held her hands in his until she turned his back to him. Now, though, she’s smiling at him, and he can’t help but feel that for the first time in months they’re actually okay – not fine just yet, but okay at least.   
He stays with her for a couple of minutes before standing up, but as soon as he does she stops him and says, “Don’t go.”  
Few moments later, they’re lying in his single bed together, careless of the fact that there is barely enough room for both of them. His arm is wrapped around her waist, and they breathe in and out in synch, each lost in their thoughts and in the warmth of the moment. When he senses that they’re slowly falling asleep, he kisses her naked shoulder and whispers to her ear, “Don’t forget you still have me. When you feel like you’ve lost everything, you still have me.”   
He doesn’t need to wait too long for her reply.  
“I know. I am not alone.”


End file.
